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Kevin Godbee - Dec 1, 2014
- 8 min read
Alan Schwartz
April in Paris: From the classic tune by Vernon Duke to Count Basie’s big band playing it "’One More Time," this souvenir of our cultural history transcends generations. PipeSMOKE visits Paris in the spring and tags along as George Fricker, in town on extended business, decides one morning to buy a new pipe. With photographer Pierre Vauthey, we followed George to a few of the best smokeshops and recorded how he found not only the briar roots he wanted, but the blossoms of romance. Here is the treatment for our story.
In the cafe on a mild Saturday morning, George sits alone, content after coffee and croissant, smoking his well-used briar, reading the newspaper, humming:
April in Paris… Chestnuts in blossom… Holiday tables under the trees…
April in Paris… This is a feeling… No one can ever reprise …
No office to go to, no business lunch, no telephone, fax, email demanding attention. No Sabine … no more. Nothing but April in Paris; a warm, soft day. What to do? Call Lisa? She sleeps ’til noon on weekends. Max? He’d be out playing tennis. Oh well, Paris is a walker’s city, so George can wander and find what he doesn’t know he’s looking for. It is the kind of day not to make plans, but to let them happen. As the French poet, Mallarme, once wrote, "a throw of the dice never … will abolish chance."
A short amble to the riverbank and the bookstalls, to browse and maybe find some new/old book he’d like. A painter sets his easel on the street to catch the first glut of tourists wandering across the Seine from the Louvre on the opposite bank. Teenage American girls wearing coordinated grunge uniforms took through stacks of used CDs and talk too loudly. Then, on a bookstall with large art books, there is a sizable tome on pipes. Beautiful pictures of gleaming briar polished to show the highlights, a cornucopia of tobacco spilling its contents across a two-page spread. The book is too big to carry around all day. He’ll come back another time. But George knows now what to do today.
It is the perfect day to buy a new pipe, and he has all the time he needs, with no one to answer to. Alone – not that he wanted it that way – he can indulge himself.
He turns his aim towards the hub of the 6th arrondissement, the "Latin Quarter," where Boulevard Saint-Germain crosses the Boulevard Saint-Michel, the center of student and intellectual life in Paris. Shades of Picasso, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and Matisse haunt the cafes and side streets, bookshops and galleries. There at 24, Boulevard Saint Michel, is Au Caid, on the same corner it has occupied since 1878, its classic oak fittings a throwback to the way George likes pipeshops to look, except that this one is authentic, time-honored.
Looking in Au Caid’s window, George spots a few unusual pipes that speak to his sensibility, and enters the shop. Mme. Schmitt, the fourth generation of her family to own Au Caid since its founding, attends to George herself. A glance at him and the classic "neogene" (billiard) he held, and Mme. Schmitt pulls out a bin of standard shapes by Chacom and Butz-Choquin, the two major French pipe manufacturers, whose stock fills three-quarters of her inventory.
But George isn’t keen on a classic. He admires two hand-carved bent pipes, one by Chacom’s master turner, Pierre Morel – with his hallmark elongation of the bowl top – and the other from Butz-Choquin. George buys both. "Must be nice to myself today," he tells Au Caid’s owner, and asks her to send the pipes to the address on his business card. "Something more modern to take with me?" he asks. "A designer look, perhaps?" George needs to break the mold today … adventure in a small way.
The proprietress shows him a Chacom "Volute," an award winning design with sculpted flowing lines and an inventive use of molded acrylic fused to the briar. George is hooked. "It is worthy of a museum exhibit," he comments. "A lot of younger men are looking for the more modern pipes," Mme. Schmitt tells him. "The ‘Danish’ style," she says, "is coming back into fashion."
On the footbridge crossing the Seine, George thinks to take a look at the Monet "Waterlilies" in the Orangerie. Deciding that the Volute is calling to be smoked, George lights up, only to find that he can’t smoke in the museum. He returns to the left bank, trailing fragrant smoke past the Musee d’Orsay, the brilliant architectural adaptation of an old railway station to an art museum (mostly modern), past the palace housing the Foreign Office, where he has spent the past week negotiating for a client, past the regal esplanade of Des Invalides. A left turn onto the Rue Surcouf brings him to the SEITA Museum (tobacco history, art, and artifacts), where the bookshop has the same book that inspired him earlier, but new and for less money. He arranges to have it sent home to New York.
An automatic impulse puts him in a taxi en route to the Avenue Victor Hugo, not far from the Arc de Triomphe, one of the city’s posh districts. Not until he pays the fare does he realize that he doesn’t live here anymore. Sabine still does, but the concierge regards him with suspicion, as always, and says that his ex is gone for the weekend.
For old time’s sake, George stops in at Lemaire, just down the street at 59, Avenue Victor Hugo, feeling a bit like one of Les Miserables himself. Mme. Pihan, the proprietress, does her best to cheer him up by bringing out a rare packet of tobacco – "La Escepcion" from Havana, which he likes to mix in with his regular blend for a change of pace – that she’d put aside for him. Touched by her kindness, George looks at her pipes, but they’re mostly classic shapes, and Dunhills at that. He gets those in London. Couple of nice Larsens and Savinellis and a vintage Charatan, but he decides to pass. This is where he used to buy his cigars regularly: best Cubans in Paris. With an au revoir and a’ bientot, he’s off, grateful for her kindness and discreet, knowing silence.
There are two pipes he left for repair at A La Pipe du Nord in the 10th arrondissement. The shop, owned by the Voisin family for five generations, has been in the Boulevard Magenta since 1867, at its present location at 21 Boulevard Magenta since 1935, near the Place de la Republique.
Pierre Voisin, the current owner, is a skilled repairman, possibly the best in Paris. A deft touch on the buffing wheel, and the old, worn pipe George started the day with looks brand new.
"I can resist anything but temptation," George tells Voisin as he looks through a selection of virgin briars made in Saint Claude for A La Pipe du Nord. "True pipe connoisseurs will buy only virgin briar, because they know the true taste of tobacco it produces," Voisin says. "In France, they want the classics: billiards, bulldogs, and bents. The pipe is an instrument to bring out the pleasure of tobacco, like a wine glass or brandy snifter." An expert on detail and a collector of historic pipes and accessories, Pierre Voisin ought to know. He acts as technical advisor and supplier of smokers’ items for many of France’s stage, film, and television set, and costume designers.
George chooses two virgin-briar classics, a bent and a billiard with a tight-knit birdseye grain. Voisin approves: "A connoisseur’s choice," he says.
Next stop is Le Pot a Tabac at 28 Rue de la Pepiniere, near the Mace St. Augustin, because George wants some new tobacco. Spring in Paris demands a new beginning, and Monsieur Lafont is one of the few French tobacconists who opens every tin and pouch, and keeps samples in labeled airtight jars.
Behind the counter, a friendly blond woman with a bright smile suggests two English-style mixtures that George has never tried. Intrigued by her, George tells her that he’s considering buying a new pipe, just so he can linger awhile.
Monsieur La font overhears and begins to display his treasures, Chacom and Butz Choquin classics. "Oh no," says the blonde, taking over from her father, who introduces her as Jeanne. "A cool pipe is what Monsieur George wants. The taste of our generation," Jeanne says. She shows him a Volute, and George admires it dutifully, but says he owns one already. More pipes appear for his approval. Finally, after a heady half hour of answers in the form of questions – "Why have I never seen you here before? Have you never been in on a Saturday?" – he buys two: a Butz-Choquin "Millesime" (Pipe of the Year), and its Chacom counterpart. With his purchase in hand, George takes the plunge, asking Jeanne if she’ll have a drink with him at the café across the street. "If you hadn’t asked me, I would have asked you," she reveals. Outside, Jeanne laughs when he shows her the Volute he bought this morning and confesses that he’s bought seven pipes today. "And did they all come with women?" she asks, smiling. "None so beautiful," he answers.
"I never knew the charm of spring,
Never met it face to face.
I never knew my heart could sing,
Never missed a warm embrace, till April in Paris.
Whom can I run to,
What have yoyou done to my heart?"
PipeSMOKE Spring 98
Written by Kevin Godbee
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When I first started with the pipe as a quirky and precocious teen, the only tutelage I had at my disposal were scenes from old movies in which a well dressed chap would stick his pipe into a pouch, scoop tobacco into the bowl and press it down unceremoniously with his thumb. Then, with great flourish, he’d strike a match and light the thing with all manner of cinematic excess, puffing up vast clouds of smoke falling just short of completely obscuring his visage. While it may look good on film, it’s a terrible approach to actually enjoying the thing. Somehow, though, this “technique” seems to have survived in the contemporary vernacular, at least to some extent, even with bit-loads of information handily at our fingertips that should dissuade us from the practice. But, at the time, this misguided approach was all I had; it’s no wonder my early days of puffing were fraught with difficult lighting, harsh, bitter smokes and tongue bite, all culminating in a fireproof mass of ye old soggy dottle in the bottom of the bowl. Ultimately, the resulting frustration made me give up the pipe, at least for a while. While the idea of it was still very appealing, the practice of it was not. It wasn’t until a few years later when, still full of curiosity and romantic notions of pipe smoking, I wandered into a real tobacconist’s shop, and learned my “method” was a long way from the techniques that would bring me to any sort of pipe smoking bliss. So, after my poor start, and under the guidance of someone who actually seemed to know how to do it right, I was given the opportunity to approach the process anew, this time with much greater success. It was only because I was both perseverent, and fortunate to have a local shop staffed with knowledgeable people, that I’ve been able to enjoy the experience ever since. At least mostly… How many fledgeling pipe smokers have simply given up on an enjoyable pastime because of similar early mis-starts? Fortunately, today, it’s not hard to find helpful guidance at the press of a key or ten. 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Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 604. Our featured interview tonight is with Jon David Cole. JD is the Owner/Tobacconist at The Country Squire in Jackson, MS, and he is the former co-host of the podcast, Country Squire Radio, which ended their 10-year run last year. We’ll have JD with the “From the Country Squire” segment talking about all the new things happening at the store and in the business in general. At the top of the show, we’ll continue our audio tour of Brian’s pipe collection.
Before we begin, I should tell you: this tobacco review is being written by an A.I. Not the fancy new GPTs or their ilk; no, this is last century’s meat-and-bone, all-organic model. To be fair, a large part of what we call knowledge is merely the accumulated perceptions and impressions gathered from a life wandered through, synthesized into a spongy mass of what-it-is-that-we-think-that-we-know. The algorithm for this prompt is simple enough: pump thousands of bowls of smoldering plant matter into a gaping maw, cross-reference the chemical sensations with all other matter previously ingested or inhaled, sieve it all through the diffuse and fractal twin lens of memory and emotion, and churn out a panoply of adjectives that attempts to convey the sensations to someone who hasn’t experienced it yet. Odds are that a diligently trained monkey could succeed half the time; if this reviewer nears fifty-one percent then that would qualify as an unrivaled success. There must have been some similar musings perambulating through the mind of Per Jensen when he began his mad scientist routine at Sutliff with the Pipe Force project, which brings us to the current mixture under the microscope—Sutliff’s Pipe Force: Episode I. Here again are the unusual ingredients that engendered the series, with the stoved Rustica being the defining voice in this composition. From the tin: The Latakia-forward English mixture offers plenty of smoky flavor from the fire-cured leaf, which is artfully harmonized with floral, earthy Stoved Rustica. A mixture of high-grade Virginias imparts a natural sweetness. Katerini, the sole Oriental component, offers herb and spice notes bringing complexity and nuance to the flavor profile. It’s certainly Latakia-forward, with the stoved Rustica doubling up on the rhythm section like a second bassist. A first whiff from the tin releases the aromas of shoe leather and hide glue in a base of clay soil with a campfire wafted over it like last night’s beach party. Once it’s been accustomed to oxygen again, subtle hints of sweetness poke through from the Virginias: lemon rind, light milk chocolate, the dregs of a peaty Scotch, and muddled cherry. Old regulars like fresh-sawn oak and tilled earth are there, of course, with distinct notes of truffle, creosote, damp peat, and pine bark mulch. As an aside, I’ve been re-potting my camellias and the similarity of aroma to the ericaceous soil mix is notable; the Katerini really brings the unique depth of its vegetal complexion when supported by the Rustica and afforded more voice in the mix. The smoky Cyprian Latakia, in turn, is backed by equal earthiness from the Rustica, which overall exhibits a profile similar to dark-fired Kentucky; it leans more toward the woody and vegetal end of that spectrum, echoing and amplifying those traits of the other constituents. The tobacco is presented pressed and cut into a couple of thick, hearty flakes in the tin, lightly moist and easily crumbled to prepare—I prefer mine with a bit of drying time. The out-of-this-world tin art for this episode in the series is Major O’Meara smoking a cavalier. In the absence of confirmation, I’m going to hazard a guess he’s of the Ithklur species. The first taste from the light is sweet, with hints of that milk chocolate dancing around the edges. The Virginia leads the smoke through the top of the bowl, and orchestrates it well. Thoroughly smoky with lemony, grassy highlights from the Virginia spectrum, it soon segues into the mid-bowl profile: heartier, smokier, with the flavor leaning to the mildly acrid and tangy tinge that is the campfire-esque signature of English blends. Caution advised, it can turn overly bitter if pushed—this is where one’s sipping technique is required to maintain the fullness of flavor through to the heel. I did tend toward a lot of relights, though it may have as much to do with technique as with the blend. Pacing is also important as the nicotine starts to manifest; though the Rustica’s contribution has been tempered well by the stoving, it can certainly upend an empty stomach. At the end of every bowl, the mouthfeel somehow gets better. The balance of sugars in the tobaccos would seem to be spot-on in this regard. I started out my tasting in cobs, then cut short an unpleasant bowl in a meer, and finally landed on my best instrument with the lovely Dunhill 4427 pictured, a quaint group 4 shell briar with a gentle curve and Cumberland stem supporting a perfectly executed acorn bowl. It surprised me here, as I’ve learned through the years that I generally have the best experience with English blends in large, wide bowls. With this blend it seems that to get the best out of the Katerini’s somewhat diaphanous influence the smaller bowl fared much better. Room note is very English, so the company you keep will either love it or hate it, and it doesn’t linger too much. I find it paired best with a strong coffee; Sumatran beans complement the flavors well, as do Ethiopian if a lighter brew is preferred. Overall impressions of the blend are that it’s a curiously interesting take on the English genre, almost a reductive reconstruction of the theme using the unique components. This blend, if nothing else, expanded my vocabulary of sense perceptions with the uniquely treated leaf. While the average human can distinguish approximately one trillion (1,000,000,000,000!) different aromas, multiplied by seven basic tastes, and wholly dependent on variables from body chemistry to atmospheric conditions, our overworked and underpaid simian brains can’t effectively catalog them all. Our pet adding machines are exceedingly good at this, however, and someday soon they’ll be the ultimate and unequivocal authority on what something tastes, smells, looks, or even feels like. Until that time, friends, revel in the moments that can be stolen to savor over a bowl of Pipe Force: Episode I.
Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 603. Our featured interview tonight is with Rick Newcombe. Rick is a well-known author of several pipe books, and he is currently working on his third book. He is a prominent collector of Danish pipes, and vintage tobaccos. He has traveled the world visiting pipe makers, and learning their different techniques. He is also the founder and chairman of Creators Syndicate, which currently represents more than 200 writers and artists. At the top of the show we’ll have a Pipe Smoking 101 segment discussing best pipe shapes and sizes that are best suited to certain types of tobacco.
Well done! Was George a real pipe smoker, or just a model chosen for his great hair? Was there any follow-up to Jeanne & George?
Ha ha ha! That’s funny Al! I have no idea on either.
Entertaining article for sure.
Thanks.
Yes, George was/is a real pipe smoker. As to his liaison with Jeanne, I have no idea what happened after the drink, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell. Author